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“Lady Celia,” Annabelle said carefully, her mind racing as she tried to process this unexpected development, “might I ask what brings you to Oakley Hall? And what compelled you to sneak around like you have?”

The girl’s flush deepened, but she met Annabelle’s gaze directly.

“I wanted to hear about the book,” she said simply. “I’ve heard whispers about your club, about the sorts of novels you read, and I… I wanted to know what they were like.”

“Good heavens!” Lady Egerton exclaimed, fanning herself with renewed vigor. “A duke’s daughter, listening to our discussions of… of…” She gestured helplessly at the copy of The Duke’s Wicked Ways that lay open on the table beside her chair.

“Of literature,” Annabelle finished firmly, moving to stand beside Lady Celia. “Albeit literature that some might consider unconventional.”

“Unconventional!” Lady Witherspoon sputtered, having recovered her composure somewhat. “My dear Miss Lytton, we were just discussing Lord Ashworth’s… technique in the stable scene. Hardly appropriate for a girl of sixteen!”

“I’m nearly seventeen,” Lady Celia interjected, “and I can assure you that I’m not entirely ignorant of the world. I’ve read Shakespeare! Some of his plays are hardly suitable for the nursery.”

“That’s… That’s entirely different,” Lady Egerton protested. “Shakespeare is… well, he’s Shakespeare! Classic literature, not these modern romances with their… Never mind, they’re not proper for a young girl like you!”

Annabelle felt a familiar spark of irritation at the implied criticism of their reading choices. It was precisely this sort of narrow-minded thinking that had motivated her to establish the Athena Society in the first place.

“I fail to see the distinction,” she said coolly, crossing her arms as she stared at Lady Egerton.

“Literature is literature, whether it was written three hundred years ago or three months ago. The human heart hasn’t changed much in the intervening centuries, nor have human desires and complications. ”

“But the propriety—” Lady Primworth began.

“Whose propriety?” Annabelle interrupted, her voice gaining strength as she warmed to her subject.

“The propriety that says women shouldn’t think about passion, shouldn’t question their circumstances, shouldn’t dare to imagine lives different from the ones society has prescribed for them?

I say that’s exactly the sort of propriety we should be challenging . ”

Lady Celia watched this exchange with fascination. Her blue-grey eyes moved from speaker to speaker as though she were witnessing a particularly engaging theatrical performance.

“Miss Lytton,” she said suddenly, drawing all attention back to herself, “might I ask what the Athena Society is exactly? I’ve only heard rumors about your gatherings.”

Annabelle smiled, pleased by the girl’s direct question.

“We’re a book club, Lady Celia. A book club founded on the principle that women deserve the same intellectual freedoms as men.

We read what we choose, discuss what interests us, and refuse to apologize for having minds of our own.

We named ourselves after Athena because she was the goddess of wisdom, and we believe that wisdom comes from exploring all aspects of human experience, including the ones that polite society prefers to ignore. ”

“How wonderfully subversive,” Lady Celia murmured, and Annabelle caught the hint of admiration in her voice.

“Subversive!” Lady Egerton looked positively scandalized. “Miss Lytton, surely you don’t mean to encourage such thinking in one so young!”

“I mean to encourage thinking, period,” Annabelle replied with characteristic bluntness. “Lady Celia appears to possess both intelligence and curiosity, two qualities that should be nurtured, not stifled. If she’s interested in literature, then she should be free to explore it.”

“But the content of these particular books—” Lady Witherspoon began.

“Is no more shocking than half the gossip that circulates through London ballrooms,” Annabelle cut her off. “At least our novels are honest about human nature.”

Lady Celia stepped forward. She wore an earnest expression as she addressed the assembled ladies.

“Please,” she said, “I know I have no right to ask this, but might I be permitted to join your club? I promise I wouldn’t be any trouble, and I do so want to read the sorts of books that make people blush and argue and think!”

The request hung in the air like a challenge, dividing the room into visible factions. Lady Egerton and Lady Primworth exchanged horrified glances, while Miss Banks leaned forward with evident interest. Lady Witherspoon appeared torn between scandal and sympathy.

“Lady Celia,” Annabelle said gently, “I admire your courage in asking, and am flattered that you’re interested in what we do here. But?—”

“Celia.”

The sitting room door burst open with such force that it crashed against the wall, sending a small porcelain figure tumbling from a nearby table to shatter on the floor.

The ladies gasped in unison. Several rose from their chairs in alarm as a tall, imposing figure filled the doorway.

A man stood at the entrance like an avenging angel carved from granite and fury. His dark hair was disheveled from riding, and his blue-grey eyes blazed with an anger that seemed to fill the entire room.

Annabelle gulped. This had to be the Duke of Marchwood, Lady Celia’s father. The resemblance was unmistakable.

The Duke’s gaze swept the assembled ladies with barely contained contempt before settling on the copy of The Duke’s Wicked Ways that lay open on the table.

Swiftly, his eyes found Lady Celia, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“ Celia ,” he said, his voice carrying the kind of quiet menace that made the blood of all who heard it turn to ice, “you will explain yourself. Now.”